


Like Lightning

by AuditoryCheesecake



Series: A Cheesecake's Tumblr Shorts [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Bad Puns, M/M, Storms, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dragon slaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: It's the way the magic crackles under his fingertips and in the marrow of his bones. It's the way it feels like power.





	

“Why is the lightning bright, Tama?” the child turned over on his cot, staring out the window to the rain lashing the trees in the garden.

The Tamassran extinguished the candle in the wall sconce. “Go to sleep, Ashkaari. You can ask more questions in the morning.”

“Yes, Tama.” His voice was meek, but he sat up again before she left. The other children slept peacefully, or at least pretended to. She saw a few flickers of interested eyes from the other beds. “Is it because it’s fire?”

“No, it is not fire.”

“Like the Saarebas,” he said, not intending for her to hear.

She did though, and crossed swiftly back to his bedside. “And where have you seen the Saarebas, Imekari?”

He shifted, not meeting her eyes, and eventually mumbled, “by the river, when you sent me to find Tamas and Baan.”

It was a lie, clearly, though not as clear as the last lie he’d told. One day, she knew, he’d spin tales like silk in service of the Qun. But for now, she pinned him with a disappointed look.

He glanced at his yearmates, who all watched them covertly, then looked back at the Tamassran with wide, guileless eyes. “By the river,” he repeated. Thunder rolled outside. She smiled and shook her head.

“You will help me with the washing tomorrow, while the others spend their time as they will.” It’s a light punishment, for him. He loves to listen to her sing while she works. He bowed his head in acknowledgment regardless. “Tonight, I will tell you all the story of Ashkaari Koslun and the mountain of thunder at the end of the world.”

* * *

Dorian knew he shouldn’t be outside. If he wanted to watch the storm, he should have gone to the wide window in his mother’s study. But the window faced east, so that she could work in natural light as early as possible, and the storm was coming from the north. He’d been watching it all afternoon, tall dark clouds flashing with lightning far out at sea.

It landed after sunset with a steadily increasing roar, raindrops pelting trees and roofs and ground like stones. The wind whipped at his hair, at his open jacket. He leaned over the balcony, eyes shut, imagining he was flying.

Lightning struck, dazzling and loud. The crack of thunder seemed to amplify the sound of the splintering tree, and Dorian nearly toppled over the edge. His heart pounded, from almost falling, from the bust of light and noise, from the charge in the air, the hair standing up on his arms.

 _I could do that_ , he thought. _I want to do that_.

He didn’t go inside right away. He practiced first, or tried to. He tried to recreate the feeling of the moment before the strike, the way something in the ground had seemed to reach for something in the sky, the way the world had felt for a split second– so blinding white it was purple.

Infuriatingly, it eluded him. That only made him more determined.

Celestia was the one to find him, and dragged him inside by the collar of his jacket, scolding him for worrying his parents, for ruining his clothes, for ruining hers. Of all his mother’s assistants and apprentices, she was his least favorite.

His parents did look worried, and Dorian was guilty for almost an entire minute.

“Lightning?” his father asked, when Dorian had accounted for his absence. His parents shared a long look, the way they’d been doing more and more since his ninth birthday. “There are worse things to pursue, I suppose.”

* * *

They are trekking through the fens after some mystical wyvern when they see the dragon. Bull gasps excitedly and grabs at his arm without taking his eyes off the beast. 

“Can we, boss, please? _Please_?”

They can.

Their teamwork has improved since they last fought a dragon. Bull is more comfortable with Dorian’s barriers, Cadash less likely to get in Cassandra’s way. But it’s by no means an easy fight, and Dorian makes the first almost-fatal mistake. His foot slips on some unspeakable bog plant and he falls ass-first into the water just as the dragon belches out a crackling ball of bright energy.

Had he been anyone else, he thinks, that would have been it. He barely has the presence of mind to slap his hand onto dry ground and channel the bursting electricity out of his body.

He can feel every one of the bones in his hand, and his vision swims a little as he hauls himself to his feet. He doesn’t have time to concentrate on the aching in his teeth or the way his blood seems to be vibrating in his veins, so he sets aside the discomfort and focuses on the dragon.

By chance, he strikes the final blow, lightning against lightning, overpowering the beast in her own arena. He feels like lightning himself, like he’s made of power, like he could conquer the world.

He leans on his staff as the others crow over their victory. Cassandra’s hair is standing up from the static when she takes off her helmet, and Bull is swinging a laughing Cadash in circles. He stops when she threatens to spew on him, and turns to Dorian. They stare at each other across the torn, muddy ground until Bull grins and bows.

* * *

A buzzing anxiety hounds him through the afternoon and evening, and Dorian sleeps lightly. He’s instantly awake when Bull comes in after his watch.

“That was some fight, huh?” Bull comments as he pulls off his armor, but nothing else. There’s been a change in his treatment of Dorian lately, only obvious when they’re alone.

“It did shocking things to my hair,” Dorian says, and tells himself that he should lie down and go to sleep, instead of watching Bull’s form in the half-dark as he laughs. There’s a steady rain falling, the wind pulling at the tent-flaps. It could turn into a real storm.

“You doing alright, though? Saw you took one of those energy balls in the face.”

Dorian scowls. He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed his fumble in the midst of the fight. “Sera would have you believe I do some of my best work with balls in my face.” 

Bull grunts, not quite the same laughter as before. “Y’know, you’ve got a weird sense of humor for an altus.”

“Ah yes, because the only things we should find funny are what? The pain of others and a well-executed execution?”

“Sorry,” Bull says, and seems genuinely contrite, “that was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Well, you have a very strange sense of what people find complimentary.” The rain has grown heavier, Dorian observes in the awkward silence. He’s still jittery, some senses amplified, others dimmed. His heart races a little as he recalls the magnitude of the dragon’s attack. He could have splintered like the tree in his parents’ garden, gone up in flames in a moment. “Do people really fall at your feet when you offer to conquer them?”

“Sometimes,” Bull shrugs. “I said I was sorry about that too, didn’t I? Didn’t mean to cross any lines.”

“I can’t imagine that’s true.” Dorian’s foot is bouncing, and he consciously stills it. It starts again after a moment.

“You doing alright, Vint?” Bull asks, and he looks genuinely concerned. 

That annoys Dorian. He doesn’t want coddling, he wants an outlet. He feels like he still has lightning inside him. “You’re so very sure of yourself,” he says archly. “How do you know that I wouldn’t be the one conquering?”

Bull is very still, in direct opposition to Dorian’s tapping fingers. “Can’t say I haven’t wondered the same thing.”

“We killed a dragon today,” Dorian says, and it’s an awful non sequitur, barely changes the subject at all. “ _I_ killed a dragon.”

“Yeah.” There’s something in Bull’s voice. Dorian can’t place it, but he likes it.

Thunder crashes outside the tent, and Dorian is aware of the spot the lightning struck, half a mile away, but Bull’s attention is steady and present. Dorian is aware of its weight, and looks back at him. It grounds him, like the way the sudden heaviness of Bull’s hand on his foot stops its shaking. He leans forward, like he’s flying.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://acheesecakewrites.tumblr.com) <3


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